


and some things you just can't speak about

by myillusionsgone



Series: said, "i'm fine," but it wasn't true [7]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Post-Seven Year Time Skip (Fairy Tail)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myillusionsgone/pseuds/myillusionsgone
Summary: Sometimes, conversations do not get easier with time. — Gray
Relationships: Gray Fullbuster & Ultear Milkovich, Gray Fullbuster & Ur
Series: said, "i'm fine," but it wasn't true [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623238
Kudos: 10





	and some things you just can't speak about

For years, the memory of this place had haunted Gray’s nights. Surrounded by pine trees that had withstood storms and angry cries alike, a mountain range lazily stretching out like a grey cat with white spots in the not-so-far distance — it was a well-chosen place. Maybe too pretty for an empty grave, but they had owed it to their teacher to pick a pretty place for her last rest. He had not understood why Lyon had been insistent about it when they had been children, but now, he  **could** . To clumsily crave a name and two dates into a stone had been no empty formality, it had been to put a period at the end of a story that had been too short.

He did not come here as often as he should, not as often as Lyon did with his baskets full of violets, but when he did, he tidied up the space, made sure that the carvings could still be read. As a child, there had been many things he had not understood, but as an adult, he was wiser in many ways and as he crouched down and plucked stubborn weeds from the ground, he was glad that this was a place not known by the public. The thought of an empty sarcophagus, inlaid with gold and precious gems, was almost enough to make him want to throw up; there were enough bad things that had happened to Ur after her death, but at least her resting place was a secret and no  **tourist attraction** .

“—did mother even  _ like _ violets?”

He did not flinch  _ much _ when he heard Ultear’s voice. She was better at hiding herself than he was at spotting her in crowds, and she was not sneaking up at him with the intent to kill, today. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her hovering by the trees, tugging on her coat’s sleeves and watching him carefully. Never before had he thought her insecure, but this seemed to be a day for surprises. “Lyon’s been making the flower decisions,” he said with a shrug as he reached for the cloth he used to clean the stone from a month worth of dirt and grime. “I never questioned it.”

And there were conversations between the two students that would never be had. They had reached a truce over all things concerning their teacher, and it had been a long and painful path to this with all the grief and the guilt piling up between them. Letting Lyon pick flowers had never been up for discussion; he had been closer to Ur, after all. There had been a time when this thought would have hurt him, but many old pains had lost their edges and spikes.

He did no longer see his teacher as someone beyond reproach, as an almost-perfect being; it had taken him many years to understand this, but he had not been fair to her when he had idolised her beyond recognition. She had been human, just like him, and she had been flawed and afraid and short-tempered on some days, and she had still made the choices that had saved his life.

His teacher’s daughter hummed as she approached slowly. “I apologise for following you,” she said as she sat down on a rock, her legs folded beneath her. “I — I didn’t know where you . . . put this.  _ Her _ .”

And though Gray would defend the choice  _ not _ to tell the world where they had put their teacher to sleep to his dying breath, he berated himself for  **this** . Ultear  _ should _ have known,  **deserved** to know more than Lyon or he did. Because despite all the horrid things that had happened,  _ Ultear was Ur’s daughter _ . This was a bond death could not change — just like Gray would always be his parents’ son, Ur would always be Ultear’s mother. He should have told her on Tenrou Island, should have told her what he had always refused to tell anyone else.

“You, um, you didn’t ask Lyon?” he asked as awkwardly as he took a step backwards to see if the writing on the stone was readable again. What Lyon had thought, not to fix it up for  _ seven years _ when he had  **not** ceased to come here _ , _ was beyond him, but his fellow student had always had a tendency to be wildly unpredictable.

A harsh scoff was his only reply as Ultear shifted closer to him,  _ to the grave _ , dark eyes surveying the scenery with a hint of a smile. “There are many things Lyon and I have to discuss before I can ask him about these things,” she said as she rolled her shoulders. “He picks good flowers, I have to give him that. Violets and roses are solid choices for most occasions, even graves,” she continued as she tapped her fingers against the stone, though now, her thought seemed to be very far away as she searched for something in her pockets. “I  _ think _ I remember her making us crowns of asters for a festival,” she went on as she toyed with the envelope she had been looking for. “So I thought they might be fitting.”

Gray nodded, not trusting his voice. The thought of his teacher did not hurt as much as it had been when he had been a child, when the wound had been open and bleeding, the blood spilling over everything and tainted every memory he had made with Lyon and with Ur. For him, it had been ten years, he had had time to get used to it. For Ultear, everything was far more complicated, and he did not envy her for the knot of emotions she had to untangle. He told her as much, his voice rough like sandpaper yet nowhere as good as smoothing things out. 

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, then — “I — I guess I’m adjusting?” Ultear replied as she settled down on the rock again, the aster seeds she had brought buried and waiting to bloom in autumn when all other flowers had died. “Some days, it’s easy but . . . hating her was a lot easier than remembering she’s — she was  _ human _ . I wanted her to be the monster in this story so much, I guess, because it meant I could put the blame on her.”

“I think that you’re trying is what counts,” he said as he sat down on the ground, his back against his teacher’s grave. It was not difficult to remember how many times Ur had scolded him when he had not put in the necessary effort into something, but he also recalled how many times she had praised his best efforts, even if they had borne no fruit. “Don’t know what she’d say, but that’s what  **_I_ ** think.”

Ultear nodded slowly, toying with her jewellery as she leaned back to look at the bright blue skies above them. “I regret a lot of what I’ve done,” she said slowly as her gaze sank and found the letters Gray had redrawn again. “Trying to kill you, for one. I was . . . glad to hear Acnologia couldn’t finish you off, by the way.”

Now it was his turn to scoff and roll his eyes at her. “Wish I wouldn’t have napped for seven years,” he said as he threw the cleaning cloth back into his basket. It was an understatement, but it was hard to pinpoint what hurt him most to have not been around for. Maybe Alzack’s and Bisca’s wedding. Maybe all the bad days his guild had had, the days he wished he could have changed for the better. “We . . . missed a lot. Bad things, sure, but a bunch of good stuff as well. And Lyon’s been unbearably annoying since he figured out he’s eight years older than me now.”

Ultear snorted loudly before she could restore her dignified mask. “What a  _ child _ ,” she muttered before she got up, letting her hood fall onto her head. “I have to go before Meredy comes looking for me, but — we can finish our talk about mother another time, perhaps?”

Jumping to his feet, Gray shrugged. “I’m going to the beach for a while,” he responded, “Erza called in some — by now — ancient favours, I guess. But, uh, I’d like to finish the conversation. It’s important.”

“Then, we will see each other at the beach, I suppose.”


End file.
